


With You I Am Never Alone

by LiveLaughLoveLarry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canadian Thanksgiving because I can, Canon Compliant, Fluff, M/M, Niall is the Captain, Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving Dinner, Which seems to be a recurring theme for me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 09:17:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2767841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveLaughLoveLarry/pseuds/LiveLaughLoveLarry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis comes up with the idea of holding a Thanksgiving dinner for their families. Harry loves it. And him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With You I Am Never Alone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rine/gifts).



> I had so much fun writing this, even if I probably spent more time procrastinating and researching completely unnecessary things (like the layout of their house, people's birthdays, baby food, and how to cook multiple turkeys).  
> Title is from Kelly Clarkson's Thankful (it seemed appropriate)  
> Big thanks to oopsandhiforever for helping me with editing! You rock! <3

It’s mid-September when Louis first brings up the idea. They’re lying in bed together, the adrenaline of the night’s concert still fresh in their blood. Their limbs are tangled up with each other and the blanket and Harry loves moments like these. He loves the simplicity, the quiet, but most of all, loves the realness of it all. They are together, right here, right now, and they can be whatever they want to be in this moment. They don’t have to lie, or pretend, they can just… be.

Louis’ breath flutters warm against Harry’s cheek, and his eyes close as Louis cards a gentle hand through his hair

“Hey Hazza,” Louis says quietly and Harry pries open a single eyelid.

“Mmm?”

“I was just thinking,” Louis says, “that it might be neat to hold a big Thanksgiving dinner back home.” Harry opens both his eyes now, looking at Louis with interest. “We could invite our families,” Louis continues, “and we could prepare the biggest, most delicious Thanksgiving feast that any of them have ever seen in their life.”

“They've never seen a Thanksgiving feast before,” Harry points out with a crooked smile, and Louis laughs.

“Then that part shouldn't be hard should it?”

“And when you say we could prepare it,” Harry continues, eyes dancing with mirth, “what you actually mean is I can spend the day slaving away in the kitchen for all of you hungry mouths while you watch.”

“Precisely,” Louis laughs. “You know me so well.” Harry brushes his lips across Louis’ forehead. “And you know me,” he says quietly. “I love it. Let’s do it. Which day?”

“Um, Thanksgiving?” Louis says, and Harry chuckles at the confusion on his face.

“Which one, I mean.”

“There’s more than one?”

“Yes,” Harry says, tapping the wrinkles that have formed on Louis’ nose. They disappear the second he touches them, Louis immediately and instinctively relaxing under his touch. “Canadians celebrate it a month earlier than Americans.”

“Why do they do that?”

“Thanksgiving celebrates the harvest,” Harry explains. “The harvest comes earlier in Canada because winter starts earlier, and winter starts earlier because it’s farther north. Well. Mostly.” Louis shakes his head petulantly, but he’s smiling. “Fucking Canadians,” he says. “Making everything all unnecessarily confusing. They should just use the same date.”

“Maybe if you asked them politely, they would,” Harry suggests, and they both laugh.

“Thank you,” Harry says when they’re both quiet again. Louis blinks.

“For what?”

“For… you know. Everything.” Harry makes to gesture vaguely, but his hand gets tangled in the sheets. Louis laughs. “You do things to make me happy.”

“Of course,” Louis says, still slightly puzzled. “I always want you to be happy.”

“I know,” Harry says, and his mouth stretches into a wide yawn. “It’s just… I don’t know. I love you.”

“I love you too, Hazza,” Louis says, kissing him softly. They break apart when Harry yawns again, and they both laugh. “Get some sleep,” Louis says, and Harry just nods. He’s almost asleep when he thinks he hears Louis speak.

“I do things to make you happy? Oh, babe. You have no idea.”

When he wakes up, he no longer remembers it.

~*~*~*~

It takes a while for everything to come together. First they have to choose the date. Fortunately, their schedule makes that decision easier. No shows are scheduled for either day, but there is a show the day after American Thanksgiving. Louis looks discomfited at the decision, but agrees.

“Are you sure?” Harry asks. “We can do it on American Thanksgiving if you want to, it just seems like it’d be simpler the other way.”

“No, no, I… it’s fine,” Louis says, but he’s running a hand through his hair. He only does that when he’s stressed. “It’s just earlier than I’d been thinking.”

“Well it’s not like we were going to start cooking a month in advance,” Harry says, still confused. Louis laughs, but it sounds off to Harry. Forced.

“No,” he says. “Of course not. Canadian Thanksgiving is fine.”

“Are you sure?” Harry asks again. “Because-”

“Yes, Harry,” Louis says, taking Harry’s face in his hands. He smiles softly, and it’s been years but Harry is still struck every time by the love in his eyes. The love that he’s sure is reflected in his own eyes as he looks back at Louis “I’m sure.”

~*~*~*~

Then they have to get approval from their management, which makes Louis grimace every time he thinks about it. It’s been nearly five years and they still aren’t allowed to come out. They aren’t even allowed to admit that they still live together. Louis is just glad that they finally let him stop “dating” Eleanor. She was a nice girl, and she tried to help them as much as she could, but she just wasn’t Harry. Even as he knew it wasn’t her fault, it still felt like she was in the way.

Management didn’t want to agree, but Louis put his foot down. He’s gotten quite creative in terms of ways to inconvenience them without technically breaking contract. They cave fairly easily this time, but they insist on the condition that the other boys and their families attend as well.

“You understand,” says the greasy, well-dressed executive with an equally slimy smile. “That way it looks like a group of friends all celebrating together. Just the two of you would be… suspicious.”

Harry doesn’t like giving in to their demands, but in this particular case it doesn’t seem like it will be any inconvenience. Arguing further isn’t likely to get them a better deal. He glances at Louis, who is chewing his lip. Louis looks back and shrugs one shoulder slightly.

“I suppose that would be acceptable,” Harry says. “The more the merrier, after all.”

“Quite,” the executive says, with another unnerving smile. Louis laughs, suddenly, a sharp bark that cuts off quickly. They both turn to look at him, but he shakes his head.

“It’s nothing,” he says, but there’s an ironic twist to his lips.

~*~*~*~

Less than a month later they’re on a plane home. There’s a spot of bad weather over the airport, which means it’s almost half an hour before they’re allowed to leave their seats. By that point Zayn is fast asleep in his chair and Liam is immersed in his phone.

Harry and Louis unbuckle their seat belts, moving to the couch on the left-hand side of the plane, the one that has been designated as “theirs” since a week after they first flew on this plane. Louis settles himself on one end of the couch and Harry flops down across the length of it, commandeering Louis’ lap as a pillow. Louis smiles and runs his hands through Harry’s curls. They’re less pronounced than they were a few years ago, but still there. Louis gently cards them with his fingers, untangling the occasional knot but mostly just reveling in their softness.

It’s silent for a long while, and Louis is beginning to think that Harry has fallen asleep when he shifts slightly and opens his eyes.

“Lou?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks again for suggesting that we do this.” Louis laughs. “Anything to get you to make me an entire houseful of food.”

“I do that anyways,” Harry points out, smiling. “But in all seriousness, I’m really looking forward to this. I wouldn’t have come up with it on my own. So… thank you. I know it hasn’t all played out the way you wanted-” “Babe, I don’t mind,” Louis says. “You’re the one who has to cook for twice as many people – how many did it end up being?”

“Thirty seven,” Harry says, laughing. “We’re going to need at least two turkeys. Good thing the oven is enormous.”

“Thirty- holy shit, Harry!” Louis exclaims. He feels Harry’s hands brush against his own and realizes that his fists are clenched, pulling uncomfortably at his hair. Louis quickly relaxes his grip. “Sorry Haz, I just… Thirty seven!”

“I’m the one doing the cooking, remember?” says Harry, “And I say everything is going to be just fine.” He lifts a hand to Louis’ face, lightly tracing along his cheek. “So calm down, yeah?” Louis lifts his own hand to cover Harry’s – or at least rest on top of it, he stopped being able to properly cover it years ago.

“Yeah,” he says. There is a moment of quiet between them, and then at the same moment they both move towards one another, their lips meeting softly. Harry gasps slightly in spite of himself, for no matter how many times they do this, it never gets old. He never stops wondering how the hell he got this lucky. They kiss slowly, almost lazily, but there’s still something in it, a spark that he’s never been able to fully put into words.

“I love you,” Louis says when they finally stop kissing. They’ve shifted position, and Harry is on top now, with Louis pressed into the couch cushions beneath them. His lips are wet and swollen, and his cheeks are red, but his eyes are alive, practically burning. “I love you so, so much.”

Harry can only nod, and kiss him again.

~*~*~*~

“You can do this,” Harry tells Louis for what must be the fourteenth time this morning. “I made you a complete list of everything we need. It’ll be easy.”

“I know,” Louis sighs. “I just wish you could come with me. I know why you can’t,” he says quickly when it looks like Harry is about to list the reasons again. “I know I’m supposed to be the one hosting this. I know how it would look, what people would say. But – for fuck’s sake, do people actually think I’m cooking a Thanksgiving dinner for thirty seven people? After the number of times I’ve explicitly stated what a rubbish chef I am?”

“Funny that, isn’t it,” Harry agrees.

“I don’t even know what half of the ingredients on this list look like,” Louis continues. “Garlic, for instance – is that the lumpy, weird-shaped root thing?”

“That’s ginger,” Harry says, laughing. “Garlic is a bulb.” Louis throws his hands in the air.

“See? I’m hopeless!” he exclaims. “I’ll ruin the dinner before it even starts!”

“I don’t think you’re quite that incompetent,” Harry says (“Try me,” Louis mutters) “But just in case, I did plan for this.”

“Plan for – what are you talking about?” Louis asks. Harry glances at the clock on the wall.

“Well, I told him to be here twenty minutes ago, so he should arrive right about-” The rest of Harry’s sentence is cut off by the doorbell. “Right on schedule.”

“What did you – Harry – who’s at the door?” Harry doesn’t bother to answer, only smirks as he quickly strides into the foyer and opens the door to reveal-

“Niall?” Louis says. “You’re Harry’s contingency plan?”

“Is that what you’re calling me?” Niall asks Harry with a wide grin. “And after I’ve been so nice to you.”

Louis laughs. “Really Harry? You could have at least gotten us help that doesn’t sass back.”

“Excuse you, I am a culinary expert,” Niall says, nose in the air. “He couldn’t have picked a finer assistant.”

“Nando’s and beer hardly makes you an expert,” Louis teases, and Niall shoots him an affronted look. “Compared to me though,” Louis amends, slinging an arm around Niall’s shoulders, “You’re Gordon fucking Ramsay.”

“That’s me,” Niall agrees. “But you can call me Chef Fucking.”

“I just might,” Louis says. “Now come on, partner. Let’s go shopping.”

~*~*~*~

An hour later Louis is beginning to think he should have stayed home. Every single ingredient that he picks up is the wrong one, and he’s absolutely certain that Niall or Harry could have done this much faster on their own. Hell, ordering it online would have been faster. After the seventeenth time he puts something in the cart only to have Niall replace it on the shelves a minute later, he gives up and just declares himself Official Cart Driver. Which involves a lot of using the cart as a scooter. Which involves a lot of crashing into things. On purpose, of course, because Louis is an excellent driver thank you very much.

They’re in the pasta aisle when Niall picks up a jar of marinara sauce and tosses it to him. Louis only barely manages to save it from shattering on the floor. He is about to put it in the cart when he realizes that he’s pretty sure this isn’t on the list – who has pasta at Thanksgiving dinner?

“Niall?” he asks. “Why did you-“

“Look,” Niall interrupts, pointing at the jar, and then he says something that nearly makes Louis’ heart stop.

“W-what did you say?”

“You heard me.” Louis fish mouths at him, speechless and breathless. “How – how did you know?” he asks at last. Niall shrugs, and another thought occurs to Louis. “Does Harry-”

“Relax,” Niall says quickly, rolling his eyes. “No, he has no idea, you haven’t been that obvious.” Louis sags against the shelves in relief.

“Jesus, Niall, you scared the shit out of me,” he says, a hand pressed to his chest.

“Sorry,” Niall says, not looking sorry at all. “So I’m right then.” Louis laughs at that.

“You’re always right, aren’t you?”

“S’my job. Now get over here and give me a hug.” Louis obeys, wrapping his arms tightly around the younger boy and getting the breath near squeezed out of him in return.

“Um – Niall – choking-” he gasps, and Niall laughs but doesn’t let up for another few seconds.

“I’m so happy for you,” he says once he finally lets go. “You deserve this.”

“I know,” Louis says. “I’m excited, but – shit, it’s terrifying at the same time. I mean, what if everything goes wrong? What if he-“

“Mate,” Niall interrupts. “He won’t care. He loves you, remember?” Louis nods slowly, then nods again, more forcefully.

“Yeah,” he says. “You’re right. Again. Just – I want it to be perfect. He deserves the best of everything.”

“It will be perfect,” Niall assures him. “Whatever you do will be perfect.”

“Are you sure?” Louis asks, in spite of himself.

“Yes, you idiot,” Niall repeats in exasperation. “Because you’ll be the one doing it. That’s all he cares about. It’s all he’s cared about since he met you.” He chuckles. “You took a little longer, but you got there in the end.”

“With your help,” Louis adds, laughing.

“Exactly,” Niall agrees. “And speaking of which-” he adds a large bottle of vodka to the cart. Louis isn’t entirely sure where it came from, since they’re still most definitely in the pasta aisle. Irish magic, he supposes.

“Now that I know wasn’t on the list,” Louis says. “I would have remembered.”

“It’s my fee,” Niall replies. “For services rendered.”

Louis can’t argue with that.

~*~*~*~

Harry has been cooking for nearly three hours, and Louis is beginning to go a little stir crazy. Which he knows is ironic, since he’s not the one stuck in the kitchen, but still.

“How’s it going?” he asks, wandering into the kitchen and draping himself across Harry’s back. He has to stretch a little to get his chin into the right place on Harry’s shoulder, but it fits. Harry glances back with a smile, and gently touches Louis’ hand.

“Pretty good,” he says, moving his thumb in gentle circles. “We should be right on schedule for dinner.” Louis glances around the room, taking in for the first time just how much food is spread across every single surface.

“Christ, Harry, are you sure we’re not going overboard with this? We’re feeding thirty-seven people, not all of bloody London.” He pauses. “You didn’t invite all of London, right?” Harry laughs.

“Relax, babe,” he says. “Just leave the cooking to me. I know what I’m doing.”

“I know, I know, but – it’s just so much!” Harry laughs again.

“You bought it, remember?”

“Yeah, but Niall did most of the work,” Louis replies. “I just drove the cart. And provided the credit card.” Harry only smiles, and turns back to the bowl he’d been mixing. Louis pouts. “Harry, entertain me,” he demands. “I’m bored without you.”

“And here I thought you were here to entertain me,” Harry says.

“You aren’t entertained?” Louis asks, pushing aside a bag of potatoes and hopping up to sit on the counter. “I must have lost my touch. It was once that my mere presence was entertaining."

“Fair enough,” Harry says, smiling. He hasn’t stopped smiling since Louis walked into the kitchen. “But if my mere presence isn’t enough for you, I’m not sure what more to offer.” He pauses for a moment. “I mean, you’re welcome to help with the cooking if you want…”

“Would I actually be any help, though?” Louis asks, laughing. He’s half joking, half serious. “I burn everything I try to cook, remember?”

“So we don’t let you near the stove,” Harry shrugs. “Simple enough.”

“Or the oven,” Louis says.

“Or the oven.”

“Or the toaster.”

“Louis, I am not cooking Thanksgiving dinner in a toaster.”

“Or the microwave.”

“I promise not to let you do anything involving heat,” Harry says, an expression midway between exasperation and amusement playing across his face. “Now do you want to do this or not?”

“I’m in if you want me,” Louis says, and Harry laughs.

“I always want you,” he murmurs, voice low, and it takes them a minute to remember they’re supposed to be cooking. “Um. Right. So. Potatoes.” He reaches around Louis for the potatoes and hands the bag to Louis. “Think you can peel these without losing any fingers?”

“I will do my best,” Louis says, bowing as best he can from a seated position with a bag of potatoes in his lap. Harry shakes his head and turns back to his bowl. Looking down at the bag, Louis pulls out a single potato and stares at it for a moment. “Um, Harry?”

“Peeler is in the third drawer on your left,” Harry says without looking. “Rinse the potatoes, then peel –always going away from yourself. Keep your fingers out of the way of the blade.”

Louis obediently retrieves the peeler and, after rinsing the first potato, starts to peel it.

“Move your fingers,” Harry reminds him before he can even start cutting. Louis looks up at Harry, who is still entirely focused on his bowl, then down at his fingers, which are most definitely in the way of the blade.

“How did you-”

“I know you,” Harry says, laughing, as though that explains everything. And it does, sort of. Shrugging, Louis adjusts his fingers and sets to work.

~*~*~*~

“Is everything ready?” Harry asks for the eighth time, and Louis is beginning to feel like the less nervous one for the first time in a month.

“Do you need me to go through the list again?” Louis asks with a smile. “Tables, tablecloths, chairs, dishes, food, beverages, dessert, it’s all set. We’re even dressed, and looking quite fabulous, if I do say so myself.”

“What about-”

“Napkins are set too.”

“And-”

“And the baby food, which I still say is unnecessary.”

“The twins deserve Thanksgiving too.”

“They’re only a year old-”

“A year and a half.”

“-they can’t even talk yet!”

“That doesn’t mean-”

“Why are we arguing about this, anyway?” Louis suddenly asks. “We have the baby food. They’ll get their Thanksgiving mush.”

Harry is silent for a moment. “What about-” Louis covers Harry’s mouth with his hand.

“If you don’t shut up and stop worrying,” he says, “I will kiss you until you forget we’re having a party. Capiche?” Harry nods slowly, and Louis removes his hand.

“Remind me,” Harry says after a moment, “how exactly is that meant to be a threat?”

Louis laughs, and shakes his head. “Are you telling me you aren’t going to stop?”

“If that’s what it takes,” Harry says with a grin. Louis grins back.

“Well then, I did make a promise.” He wraps Harry’s tie around one hand, and pulls him in so their faces are inches apart. “I love it when you wear ties,” he breathes, and then Harry kisses him, burying his hands in his hair. A small noise of pleasure slips out of Louis’ throat and Harry’s breath hitches. Louis’ fingers find their way to Harry’s shirt and start unbuttoning it, greedily touching the warm skin underneath.

“Lou,” Harry gasps. “The party – they’ll be here any minute.”

“Don’t care,” Louis says. “Want you.” His hands travel to Harry’s zipper. “Always want you.”

Harry’s hands have just reached for Louis’ shirt when the doorbell rings, and they both freeze, looking at each other. And then they’re laughing, laughing helplessly as Harry tries to repair his clothes.

“I’ll get it,” Louis says when the bell sounds again. “Join me when you’re decent.” Harry nods, and Louis heads for the front door with quick strides. He pulls it open a second after the bell rings a third time.

“Gemma, Anne, hi,” he says, trying to conceal his slight breathlessness. “So glad you could make it. Is Robin coming?”

“He’s just parking the car,” Anne says. “He’ll be up in a minute. I think your family will be too – I’m pretty sure I saw their car go by as we were walking up.”

“Which one?” Louis asks, laughing. “There are so many of them, they have to take two cars. But please, come inside, get out of the cold.”

“Where’s my son?” Anne asks as she removes her coat, and thankfully Harry comes through the doorway at just that moment so Louis doesn’t have to come up with any sort of excuse.

“Right here mum,” Harry says, and Anne folds him into a hug. Gemma, standing behind them, glances from Louis to Harry and back to Louis.

“Got a little distracted?” she asks quietly, a hint of mirth in her eyes. Harry blanches slightly, and she chuckles.

“Only a little,” Louis replies with a nonchalant shrug. “It’s not like you froze to death.”

“It’s good to see you baby,” Anne says oblivious to (or at least not commenting on) the almost-debauchery. She holds Harry at arm’s length to give him a critical once-over. “You look pasty again – have you been eating right?”

“Yes, mother,” he says, and on anyone else it would sound exasperated, but with him it’s somehow completely sincere.

“And you definitely don’t have to worry about that tonight,” Louis adds. “I think we bought out half of Tesco.”

The doorbell rings again, and Gemma, who is closest to the door, opens it to admit Robin and the Tomlinson-Deakin clan.

It’s quite a production getting them all inside, and Louis suggests that they spread out to the living room while they wait for the rest of the guests. Harry immediately takes the opportunity to scoop up Doris from Dan and capture Johanna, who is holding Ernest, in conversation about the twins.

“Don’t let him get started on why the twins deserve Thanksgiving too,” Louis shouts as they disappear through the doorway. Harry pops his head back around the corner just long enough to stick his tongue out, then grins and vanishes again. Louis shakes his head, turning back to Lottie, who’s standing in front of him with a boy he vaguely recognizes but is fairly certain he’s never met.

Lottie gives Louis a quick hug before pulling back and turning to the boy.

“Louis, this is my boyfriend, Adam,” she says, then leans in to whisper in his ear, “and if you scare him off so help me I will cut off your dick.”

“Sweet little things like you shouldn’t say things like that,” Louis replies with a smile. She just glares. “I promise to be on my best behaviour,” he says, trying not to laugh. It doesn’t really work, and Lottie rolls her eyes.

“You’d better,” she says. Adam looks somewhere between confused and embarrassed, and Louis takes pity on him.

“Nice to meet you, Adam,” he says extending a hand. “Louis.”

“I know who you are,” Adam says, taking the proffered hand. “I think everyone does.” Louis quirks an eyebrow at him, and Adam blushes. “Honour to meet you, sir,” he stammers. Louis laughs.

“Please, just call me Louis,” he insists.

“O-okay,” Adam says. “Louis.” There’s a moment of silence, like he’s afraid of putting a foot wrong, and Louis sighs inwardly. Maybe it would have been like this even without the band – he is almost seven years older than Lottie, after all – but he hates the awkwardness when people are trying so hard not to make a fool of themselves in front of him that they’re afraid to do anything. It’s like trying to talk to a scarecrow, for fuck’s sake. He decided long ago that he wasn’t going to worry too much about it, that if he did it on purpose it was funny instead of embarrassing and no one thought a thing of it.

“Why don’t you join the others in the living room while I have a quick word with my dear little sister,” Louis says, reaching for Lottie’s carefully styled hair. She dodges just in time, giving him a glare, then smiles at Adam.

“Go on, babe, I’ll be there in a minute.” He obeys, only glancing back once. When he’s out of sight, Louis turns to Lottie.

“Did you tell him?” he asks, and she nods. “How much?”

“Enough,” she says. “He knows you’re gay, that you’re with Harry. That’s all you wanted me to tell him, right?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, and exhales. In spite of himself, he finds himself asking, “And you’re sure he can be trusted?”

She glares at him for a moment, but then her eyes soften. “Lou,” she says gently. “He’s a good guy, I promise.” She grins. “Besides, he knows I would dump his ass in a heartbeat if he tattled, and I think he’s rather fond of me.”

“Strange man,” Louis says, instinctively reverting to humour. Lottie slaps his arm, but it’s gentle, no real force behind the blow.

“Harry is a goddamn saint to put up with you,” she says, stalking off towards the living room.

“I’m not sure you can use those two words together,” Louis calls after her, and she flips him the bird. He laughs, and follows her to join the others.

~*~*~*~

Over the course of the next half hour or so, the rest of the guests trickle in a few at a time. Zayn arrives first, with his family and Perrie. Liam and Sophia, however, arrive separately from his family. His sister Nicola brings a date as well, and Louis has a quick conversation with her similar to the one with Lottie, though slightly less awkward.

Des and Mark arrive together, having shared a hotel room. Harry had worried that inviting them might make things awkward with their families, and Louis had partially agreed, but he’d also reminded him that “There’s going to be thirty-freaking-seven people there. If it’s awkward they can just ignore each other, and still have more people than they can possibly talk to.”

Predictably, Niall and his parents are the last to arrive, though Greg, Denise, and little Theo beat them by only a few minutes. When the last of the guests has joined the living room crowd, Harry and Louis slip off to put the finishing touches on the dinner spread. Under Harry’s watchful eye, Louis arranges the dishes on the serving table. The last dish out is the turkey, which Harry carves, and which probably should have gone on the table earlier since it’s both the largest dish and the centrepiece of the meal. After some wiggling and squishing and a narrowly averted catastrophe involving a bowl of cranberry sauce, everything is ready.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Louis says in his best announcer voice. Everyone looks to him where he stands in the doorway, and he bows dramatically, gesturing behind him. “Dinner is served.”

The whole affair is rather informal, with the food served buffet style and the guests sitting wherever they please at the three long tables. Most people change seats several times over the course of the meal, and the atmosphere is one of cheerful friendship. Harry receives compliment after compliment on the amazing food, and he beams at each one.

Not that there’s any hyperbole to the praise – and yes, Louis knows that he’s biased, but he also knows that he has never seen so much food of so many different kinds that all tasted so good. Turkey, stuffing, squash, green beans, cornbread, yams (with and without marshmallows), two kinds of cranberry sauce, three kinds of potatoes, enough gravy to float a flotilla of toy boats… he pinches himself once or twice, just to make sure he’s not dreaming. Though he’s not sure he’d want to wake up if he was.

When it’s time for the pumpkin pie (or rather, pies – there are six of them), someone suggests that they eat it outside. The motion is eagerly supported, and chairs are quickly dragged out to the patio. A few people opt to stay inside, including Jay with the twins, but most of the group troops outside with their plates of dessert. It’s not quite dark yet, though it’s certainly close, and the air is cool and sweet. A light breeze carries the scent of some kind of flowers from a neighbour’s garden, and the evening is quiet save for the trees rustling and a few birds.

Louis finds himself separated from Harry for the first time all evening. He glances around for a few seconds before spotting him sitting on the low stone wall a ways into the yard. He looks thoughtful, peaceful even. Louis smiles, deciding to let him be for a few minutes, and turns back to the animated discussion Gemma and Lottie are having about the fact that Lottie has a date and Gemma is still, in Lottie’s words, “a lonely old maid.”

“I’m only twenty four,” Gemma tells her with a roll of her eyes. “Not old by anyone’s standards. You, on the other hand – hardly out of high school, and you think you’ve found ‘twoo wuv’ already?”

“I did,” Louis interjects, and there’s not even a pause before they both immediately turn on him, throwing verbal darts of, “You just have to rub everyone’s face in it, don’t you,” and “Yeah, well you’re a sappy old romantic with all the bloody luck.”

“Is that supposed to be an insult?” Louis has to ask, and then they’re off again, criticizing his taste in insults, which he didn’t even know was a thing. They banter amicably for a few more minutes before Lottie spots Adam and wanders off. When it’s just the two of them, Gemma winks at Louis.

“I’ll let you go hang out with your twoo wuv some more too,” she tells him, and turns away in search of a new conversation. “Great dinner, by the way.”

“Thanks,” he calls after her. She just winks again, and motions for him to go. Laughing, he obeys.

~*~*~*~

Louis makes his way across the grass to Harry and sits down on the wall beside him.

“I think this dinner is officially a success,” he says. Harry hums in agreement. “Tired?” Louis asks.

“A little,” Harry responds after a moment. “It’s been a long day. But I loved every second of it.”

“Even the part where Liam dropped that plate of potatoes on Theo’s head?” Harry laughs.

“Even that,” he says. “No, especially that. Prime Instagram material.”

“Got a caption planned yet?”

“Mr. Potato Head, obviously.” Louis laughs at that.

“Obviously.”

They’re silent for a moment, and then Harry reaches for Louis, sliding his hand behind his neck and pulling him in. Harry’s lips are urgent, needy, and for a brief time Louis loses himself in the kiss. “I love you,” Harry gasps when they separate for a moment. “I love you so much.” Louis only kisses him again, harder.

Eventually the kisses slow, then stop, but they stay holding each other, foreheads pressed together. The night is quiet, the silence broken only by their laboured breathing, and Louis realizes that everyone else has gone inside. He’s puzzled for a moment, then understands – Niall. He makes a mental note to send him something special as a thank you. A bottle of vodka just won’t cut it. Even if it was enormous.

Louis traces a finger along Harry’s cheek, and Harry shivers. Louis laughs softly.

“Cold?” Harry shakes his head. “Good,” Louis says, “because I want to do something.”

He’s terrified, palms sweaty and chest tight. But he wants this. He really, really wants this, and he knows Harry does too. Besides, no sense putting Niall’s hard work to waste.

“Harry,” he says, and inwardly winces when it comes out more like a question than he meant it to.

“Mm?” Harry says sleepily.

“Haz, babe, look at me,” he says, and Harry obeys, looking up at him through his lashes.

“I love you,” Louis says, and wow, that was blunter than he’d expected. But Harry smiles, and he presses on. “You are the best thing in my life, have been since day one. I have never been more grateful to have been peed on.” They both laugh at the memory, shifting closer together. “When we lost on X-Factor, I was scared shitless,” Louis continues. “I thought I would lose you, and after I’d only just found you, found us. But that didn’t happen. Looking back I realize, I’m not sure it could have. Even if the band hadn’t stayed together, we would have.

“I know the past few years haven’t been easy. In fact, sometimes, they flat out sucked. But every single shitty, miserable day was made that much better because I had you. Even when we were thousands of miles apart, it might as well have been inches because you were still there in every moment of every day. And – I think – it’s been worth it.”

“So worth it,” Harry breathes. Louis stands, sliding off the wall and turning to face Harry. He slides his hand into his pocket, feeling the rectangular box pressing against his fingers.

“It feels like my life has been divided into two sections – life before you, and life after. I don’t know how I did it back then, I really don’t, because I can’t imagine a life without you. Honestly, I don’t think there could have been one any more than I could have lost you. No matter what, no matter when, no matter how, we would have found each other. We were always meant to. We missed each other at the Script concert, but we found each other in the end.

“If tomorrow we lost everything, I wouldn’t care, as long as I had you by my side. And I have no doubts that I always will. You are all I need, all I’ll ever need. You make me happy. Making you happy makes me happy. And with your permission, I would like to keep making you happy every day for the rest of your life.”

Louis can see the exact moment when Harry gets it, when his eyes go from confused to shocked. His hand flies up to his mouth, which is working overtime and making even less sense than usual.

“Are you – is this-”

“Harry Edward Styles,” Louis says, lowering himself to one knee on the grass. “You are my anchor. You are my heart. You are my _home._ I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and I want to make that official.” He flips open the box. “Will you marry me?”

The silence is heavy. Harry still has his hand over his mouth, and as Louis watches he sees a tear roll down his cheek. As the seconds mount he gets more and more nervous.

“Harry?” he asks hesitantly after what feels like an eternity but was probably only about a minute. “Are you-”

Harry interrupts him by sliding off the wall and kissing him. Louis can taste salt tears on Harry’s lips, and pumpkin pie on his tongue, and then soon enough all thought is driven from his mind except for a constantly repeating refrain of _Harry, Harry, Harry._

“You never did answer my question,” Louis notes eventually. “Is it safe to assume that was a yes?”

“That was absolutely a yes,” Harry tells him. “The biggest and yes-est yes I’ve ever given.” He pauses for a moment, pulling back, and Louis covers his mouth with one hand

“If you ruin this moment with a Simon Cowell impression I just might be forced to withdraw the offer,” he says, and he can feel Harry pout under his fingers before they both laugh.

“Are you allowed to do that?” Harry asks after Louis drops his hand.

“Well, it’s not like you have the ring on yet,” Louis says, “so it’s not even really official.”

“Then let’s fix that,” Harry says, and reaches for the ring. Louis pulls it away.

“Nuh-uh,” he says. “That’s my job.” Harry smiles, extending his hand.

“All right then.”

Louis takes Harry’s hand, gently pressing his lips to each long, slender finger. Then carefully prying the ring from its nest of velvet, he lifts it to Harry’s ring finger.

“Ready, babe?” Harry hits him with the hand that’s not in use.

“I was ready the minute I saw you in that disgusting bathroom,” he says. “Now stop stalling.”

Louis laughs, and obeys, sliding the ring onto Harry’s finger.

“A perfect fit,” he says, rubbing his thumb over it. He glances up. “Guess I’m stuck with you now.”

“And I’m stuck with you,” Harry agrees. He leans down and kisses Louis again, murmuring against his lips, “and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”


End file.
